


How do you play Russian Roulette with your brain?

by lubilu17



Series: I Rebel; Therefore I Exist [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Attempted Suicide, Based of caw.chan's rebel AU, F/M, Hospitals, Infant Death, James is ill lots, M/M, Pneumonia, Self-Harm, im sorry, there's lots of death, this is the saddest of the series so far
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 16:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11786667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lubilu17/pseuds/lubilu17
Summary: Six chambers. One bullet. Six chances. Six chances for it to kill him. Six chances for his life to collapse. Thomas Jefferson's life was a game of a Russian roulette, each time it fell apart the trigger was pressed slightly, each time it fell apart he came slowly closer to death. A tragically beautiful metaphor for a young life being slowly torn apart from the inside out.





	How do you play Russian Roulette with your brain?

**Author's Note:**

> Based off caw.cham's Rebel AU from instagram.  
> Seriously go check it out, its beautiful.
> 
> Also I'm sorry about this.

Six chambers. One bullet. Six chances. Six chances for it to kill him. Six chances for his life to collapse. Thomas Jefferson's life was a game of a Russian roulette, each time it fell apart the trigger was pressed slightly, each time it fell apart he came slowly closer to death. A tragically beautiful metaphor for a young life being slowly torn apart from the inside out.

Thomas was six when he first found out he was getting a younger sibling. He'd spend his hours helping his parents pick out clothes, room colours and names. When the time came for the baby to be born he spent the day with his grandparents, playing in their garden with a doll pretending it was his younger sibling, caring for it whilst waiting for news from his family. At 9pm on May 28th Elizabeth Jefferson was born.

The new baby was embraced easily into the small family, she was cared for the way every set of new parents wishes they could care for their child. She was bought the newest toys, the newest clothes, taken to the best classes, much like Thomas's own early childhood. Elizabeth, Bet to Thomas whose missing front teeth gave him a slight lisp every time he pronounced his sisters name, had the same deep eyes as Thomas, the same corkscrew curls as Thomas and their mother. 

 

His Father's cough started when Thomas was eleven, it had started as a small cough-nobody had thought it was anything out of the ordinary, then came the short press of breath. Thomas and his father were out on a walk round the fields that surrounded their estate, they had been stopping every couple of yards of so so his father could catch his breath, hand on his chest wincing in pain every time he took a shallow breath. It was only as they were getting back to the house when his father collapsed. Thomas frozen in a state of shock even as paramedics surrounded the pair, shouting words of little meaning to him. He watched as they tried to bring life back into Peter Jefferson's heart. He watched as they tried to save his father's life. He watched as they declared Peter Jefferson dead. Time of death: twelve thirty one in the afternoon, cause of death: heart attack. 

He had died listening to the clock chiming half past. It took all Thomas had to break each clock in the house that chimed on half past with his bare hands, glass and ivory shards making their way into Thomas's hands, blood trailing from his knuckles down his wrists and arms. For days he'd pick at the scabs on his knuckles, savouring the pain, knowing that it was only a small portion of the pain his father had felt only days before. He'd pick at the scabs knowing that it was his fault his father had died, he had been the only one with him at the time, he should have spotted something was wrong, he should have called the ambulance sooner instead of only screaming and making his mother call them instead.

 

Thomas Jefferson was eleven when Deaths finger pressed the trigger for the first time, yet no bullet came out of the gun.

 

Thomas was thirteen when he met James Madison, a small, sickly boy who had transferred to his school from one only a couple of miles away, they had sat next to each other in English, shy eyes meeting over a shared copy of Macbeth. A small smile and a quiet conversation between the two boys was all that was needed to spark a friendship that would span decades and be the best relationship in Thomas's life. The bruises that had wrapped around James' wrists and cut on his eyebrow faded over time and Thomas, as curious as he was when they first met yet never worked up the courage to ask what had caused the injuries, forgot that that the had ever been there, whatever monster had hurt James was no longer there to hurt him.

When they were fifteen James caught a form of pneumonia, his frail body not enough to support himself. Thomas watched as James was sent to stay in the local hospital, he'd spend hours by James' bedside, just watching. Watching James' chest lift ever so slightly every time he took a shallow breath. His cheeks were sunken in, his skin sallow, his breaths raspy. Every day after school Thomas would visit the hospital, bringing work for James to make sure he never go too far behind in his school work.

Each day James was in the hospital Deaths finger got closer to pressing the trigger, when it finally did no bullet came out of the chamber.

 

When he was seventeen James, after finally making it out of the hospital, introduced Thomas to one of his family friends, Martha Wayles. Thomas could easily say that Martha was the most beautiful girl he'd ever met, her deep eyes holding every emotion, lighting up when her and Thomas would go to the small park near their school, darkening if someone made a comment about her or Thomas, letting a slither of vulnerability show when they'd sit in one of their bedrooms, just talking to each other. 

There were times where they'd just sit in silence, just loving each other, a love so strong neither thought it could end. Martha would calm Thomas when he started picking at the marks in his hands, screaming through is tears that it was his fault his father had died, she'd be there every time Thomas's anxiety got the better of him, calming him down from a panic attack. In return Thomas would be there every time she woke in the night from dreams that plagued her mind. They were a puzzle piece fitting together perfectly saving each other simultaneously. They were a piece of music, Thomas on his violin accompanying Martha's soft vibrato. They'd perform together or just play for each other, Martha loving the dream like music of Thomas's violin. It was a soft love, a pure love, an unconditional love.

 

At eighteen, Thomas, James and Martha went off to college, the three of them all getting into the same college. They'd spend their time together studying, going to parties, just relaxing in James and Thomas's dorm room. Thomas would take Martha out on dates to Central Park, try to get her tickets to broadway shows that she wanted to see or just sit and play violin for her when James was out of their room.

 

Thomas was nineteen when Martha called him over to her dorm room, voice thick with tears. He'd found her with her head rested against the lid of the toilet, surrounded by pregnancy tests scattered on the floor. She'd held the one in her hand out to Thomas, he'd prayed for it to be negative but with the state of his girlfriend he could see that his prayers would not be answered. They'd moved from the bathroom floor to Martha's bed, neither talking just holding each other and crying. 

They told James only a week later, he'd sprung into action straight away talking about vitamins and different doctors appointments Martha would need to go to. During the pregnancy Tomas would spend his hours-not in class- picking out clothes,room colours and names for his child. Thomas could remember doing the exact same things while his mother was pregnant with Elizabeth. After their first year at college the three of them had bought an apartment so the new baby wouldn't have to live in a dorm room or with Martha's parents. 

 

Thomas was twenty when he decided to propose to Martha, four months into her pregnancy, just as she was starting to show. He'd forced James out of the apartment, for him to go on a date with his current girlfriend, and made a candlelit dinner for himself and Martha. The ring had been his grandmother's, silver with three small diamonds in the centre, yet Thomas had been to a small, nearby engravers to have the words 'Always and Forever' inscribed on the inside of the ring.

She'd started to cry as soon as Thomas had sunk to one knee, his own breath hitching in his throat as he finally asked the question. He hadn't even finished asking by the time she'd answered, tackling him in a hug, being as careful as she could be with the baby. They'd sat on the roof of their apartment building sharing a large bottle of lemonade looking for the stars hidden in a blanket of cloud and pollution.

 

It was during the eighth month of Martha's pregnancy when it had happened. She'd woken Thomas up in the middle of the night, through her tears she managed to tell him that her contractions had started. They made it to the hospital in record time, waking James up with their frantic shouting. The doctors had taken her straight into surgery, leaving Thomas and James behind in the waiting room with no clue whether Martha and the baby were okay. With each second that passed Thomas's breath began to quicken. With each minute that passed Thomas became more restless, starting to pace the waiting room floor. With each hour that passed Thomas began to lose hope. With each nurse or doctor that came into the room he'd look up at them with a small flicker of hope in his eyes. Finally, when Martha's doctor entered the waiting room the flicker of hope was quickly extinguished.

The look on the doctors face said it all. The downturn of his mouth, the furrow of his brow, the tired mess in his eyes. Thomas screamed. Whether he was screaming for his child or his fiancé he had no idea but the thought of losing either one broke his heart. It took all of his strength to not vomit all over the sea green linoleum floor. Violent sobs shook his body even before knowing what had happened.

Lucy Elizabeth Jefferson had been born on the 8th of May at 6:48am. She had been born with no screaming or crying. She had been born sleeping, yet to never wake up.

As death brought Thomas's daughter to his lifeless chest in with one hand he pressed the trigger of the gun with the other, just waiting for the bullet to shoot Thomas in the head. No such luck this time.

 

Thomas watched the way his fiancé's eyes lost all life, the way her lips no longer curled up in small, secretive smiles, the way her hands would never again clasp his in joy. He watched the way her cheeks sunk in, the way she refused the food the hospital gave her until they had to give her a feeding tube, the way she almost shrunk into the hospital bed. He watched as she went in pro surgery after surgery to try and repair the damage the pregnancy had done to her body. He watched her break down time after time again screaming about how it was her fault the baby had died, how she wished it had been her. He watched her fall apart both mentally and physically, her body growing weaker after each surgery. 

James had forced Thomas to go home and sleep in his own bed for once when he got the call from the hospital. The call telling him that the love of his life had not made it through one of her surgeries, how she'd died on the operating tables. While he'd watched her fall apart she'd had the luxury of missing all of Thomas's breakdowns, she'd had that one small miracle. 

 

Thomas Jefferson was twenty when his fiancé died only two weeks after his daughter. Death had pulled the trigger yet again, but Thomas had not met his bullet this time.

 

With his eyes trained on the bottom of a bottle Thomas had trashed the entirety of the nursery, the paintings ripped of the walls, the wooden crib smashed and splintered, toys strewn over the floor. In the corner of the room, the only thing left standing was a small music stand and violin case. With trembling hands Thomas had picked up the violin and started to play. A haunting melody, one that belonged to the score of a horror movie floating through the house. He didn't stop all through the night, he didn't stop to eat the next day, he didn't stop when his fingers had started to bleed. The only time he stoped playing was when James forced him to stop, to sit, eat some kind of food, clean the blood that covered his hands and bandage his wounds. After eating Thomas had picked up the violin again, unwrapped the bandages and started to play. The music no longer sinister but turning into a happier song, one that in months previous could be found with Martha dancing around the kitchen to the tune. 

Thomas would spend his days endlessly breaking the wounds that James had tried to heal by playing the violin. It was a beautifully tragic sight, the violins strings bloodstained and fraying, the skin on Thomas's fingers peeling away every time he tried to play, the gaunt figure of a mourning man standing in the remains of a nursery that looked more like a bomb site. He felt numb, nothing could compare to the pain he had felt.

He wouldn't have been able to tell anyone where he had gotten the gun. It wasn't that he didn't want anybody the know that he had the gun, it was that he honestly couldn't remember he had bought it from. He had only bought one bullet, it was all he needed to get the job done, one bullet away from joining his fiancé and daughter. He'd had the gun rested against his head, saying his final prayers, a luxury neither Martha or Lucy had ever had, when James had found him on the bridge. He'd been tracking Thomas's phone since the first time he'd tried to leave the house whilst blackout drunk only two days after Lucy's birth.

Thomas hadn't had the chance to pull the trigger, but Deaths hand had and as a warped mirror of life nothing had happened, the bullet was still in the chamber win only two more cylinders to go.

 

At twenty four Thomas returned to his classes after spending the last three and a half years of his life in and out of hospitals, recovering and mourning. At twenty two Thomas Jefferson met Alexander Hamilton a tiny hurricane of a man who kissed Thomas like it was the last thing he'd ever do. Each kiss the pair shared Thomas would send a silent apology to Martha as if he were betraying her. Alexander's kisses burnt his scarred finger tips, burnt the Arabic translations of Martha and Lucy's names that had been inked over a deep scar that ran down Thomas's right wrist. Each time this happened he couldn't help but remember the times that Martha had tried to teach Thomas how to read Arabic, a language more common to her than English.

Thomas was twenty five when he forgave himself for falling in love again. He started to believe that maybe Alexander could be the one to help him wrestle the gun out of Death's hands before this grotesque game of Russian roulette finally killed Thomas.

**Author's Note:**

> So fun fact: I have literally the same name as Jeffersons irl daughter (as well as the one I used in this fic) aside from the fact that I have a different surname to her, though my name was most definitely not inspired by his choice of names (even if it was a very good choice if I say so my self)


End file.
